Shapes of Clay
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Title: Shapes of Clay
Author: Ambrose Bierce
Release Date: June 19, 2004 [EBook #12658]
Language: English
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[Illustration: Ambrose Bierce.]
SHAPES OF CLAY
BY
AMBROSE BIERCE
AUTHOR OF "IN THE MIDST OF LIFE," "CAN SUCH THINGS BE?" "BLACK BEETLES
IN AMBER," AND "FANTASTIC FABLES"
1903
DEDICATION.
WITH PRIDE IN THEIR WORK, FAITH IN THEIR FUTURE AND AFFECTION FOR
THEMSELVES, AN OLD WRITER DEDICATES THIS BOOK TO HIS YOUNG FRIENDS AND
PUPILS, GEORGE STERLING AND HERMAN SCHEFFAUER. A.B.
PREFACE.
Some small part of this book being personally censorious, and in that
part the names of real persons being used without their assent, it seems
fit that a few words be said of the matter in sober prose. What it seems
well to say I have already said with sufficient clarity in the preface
of another book, somewhat allied to this by that feature of its
character. I quote from "Black Beetles in Amber:"
"Many of the verses in this book are republished, with considerable
alterations, from various newspapers. Of my motives in writing and in
now republishing I do not care to make either defence or explanation,
except with reference to those who since my first censure of them have
passed away. To one having only a reader's interest in the matter it may
easily seem that the verses relating to those might properly have been
omitted from this collection. But if these pieces, or indeed, if any
considerable part of my work in literature, have the intrinsic worth
which by this attempt to preserve some of it I have assumed, their
permanent suppression is impossible, and it is only a question of when
and by whom they will be republished. Some one will surely search them
out and put them in circulation.
"I conceive it the right of an author to have his fugitive work
collected in his lifetime; and this seems to me especially true of one
whose work, necessarily engendering animosities, is peculiarly exposed
to challenge as unjust. That is a charge that can best be examined
before time has effaced the evidence. For the death of a man of whom
I have written what I may venture to think worthy to live I am no way
responsible; and however sincerely I may regret it, I can hardly consent
that it shall affect my literary fortunes. If the satirist who does not
accept the remarkable doctrine that, while condemning the sin he should
spare the sinner, were bound to let the life of his work be coterminous
with that of his subject his were a lot of peculiar hardship.
"Persuaded of the validity of all this I have not hesitated to reprint
even certain 'epitaphs' which, once of the living, are now of the dead,
as all the others must eventually be. The objection inheres in all forms
of applied satire—my understanding of whose laws and liberties is at
least derived from reverent study of the masters. That in respect of
matters herein mentioned I have but followed their practice can be shown
by abundant instance and example."
In arranging these verses for publication I have thought it needless
to classify them according to character, as "Serious," "Comic,"
"Sentimental," "Satirical," and so forth. I do the reader the honor to
think that he will readily discern the nature of what he is reading;
and I entertain the hope that his mood will accommodate itself without
disappointment to that of his author.
AMBROSE BIERCE.
CONTENTS.
THE PASSING SHOW
ELIXIR VITAE
CONVALESCENT
AT THE CLOSE OF THE CANVASS
NOVUM ORGANUM
GEOTHEOS
YORICK
A VISION OF DOOM
POLITICS
POESY
IN DEFENSE
AN INVOCATION
RELIGION
A MORNING FANCY
VISIONS OF SIN
THE TOWN OF DAE
AN ANARCHIST
AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
ARMA VIRUMQUE
ON A PROPOSED CREMATORY
A DEMAND
THE WEATHER WIGHT
T.A.H.
MY MONUMENT
MAD
HOSPITALITY
FOR A CERTAIN CRITIC
RELIGIOUS PROGRESS
MAGNANIMITY
TO HER
TO A SUMMER POET
ARTHUR MCEWEN
CHARLES AND PETER
CONTEMPLATION
CREATION
BUSINESS
A POSSIBILITY
TO A CENSOR
THE HESITATING VETERAN
A YEAR'S CASUALTIES
INSPIRATION
TO-DAY
AN ALIBI
REBUKE
J.F.B.
THE DYING STATESMAN
THE DEATH OF GRANT
THE FOUNTAIN REFILLED
LAUS LUCIS
NANINE
TECHNOLOGY
A REPLY TO A LETTER
TO OSCAR WILDE
PRAYER
A "BORN LEADER OF MEN"
TO THE BARTHOLDI STATUE
AN UNMERRY CHRISTMAS
BY A DEFEATED LITIGANT
AN EPITAPH
THE POLITICIAN
AN INSCRIPTION
FROM VIRGINIA TO PARIS
A "MUTE INGLORIOUS MILTON"
THE FREE TRADER'S LAMENT
SUBTERRANEAN PHANTASIES
IN MEMORIAM
THE STATESMEN
THE BROTHERS
THE CYNIC'S BEQUEST
CORRECTED NEWS
AN EXPLANATION
JUSTICE
MR. FINK'S DEBATING DONKEY
TO MY LAUNDRESS
FAME
OMNES VANITAS
ASPIRATION
DEMOCRACY
THE NEW "ULALUME"
CONSOLATION
FATE
PHILOSOPHER BIMM
REMINDED
SALVINI IN AMERICA
ANOTHER WAY
ART
AN ENEMY TO LAW AND ORDER
TO ONE ACROSS THE WAY
THE DEBTOR ABROAD
FORESIGHT
A FAIR DIVISION
GENESIS
LIBERTY
THE PASSING OF "BOSS" SHEPHERD
TO MAUDE
THE BIRTH OF VIRTUE
STONEMAN IN HEAVEN
THE SCURRIL PRESS
STANLEY
ONE OF THE UNFAIR SEX
THE LORD'S PRAYER ON A COIN
A LACKING FACTOR
THE ROYAL JESTER
A CAREER IN LETTERS
THE FOLLOWING PAIR
POLITICAL ECONOMY
VANISHED AT COCK-CROW
THE UNPARDONABLE SIN
INDUSTRIAL DISCONTENT
TEMPORA MUTANTUR
CONTENTMENT
THE NEW ENOCH
DISAVOWAL
AN AVERAGE
WOMAN
INCURABLE
THE PUN
A PARTISAN'S PROTEST
TO NANINE
VICE VERSA
A BLACK-LIST
A BEQUEST TO MUSIC
AUTHORITY
THE PSORIAD
ONEIROMANCY
PEACE
THANKSGIVING
L'AUDACE
THE GOD'S VIEW-POINT
THE AESTHETES
JULY FOURTH
WITH MINE OWN PETARD
CONSTANCY
SIRES AND SONS
A CHALLENGE
TWO SHOWS
A POET'S HOPE
THE WOMAN AND THE DEVIL
TWO ROGUES
BEECHER
NOT GUILTY
PRESENTIMENT
A STUDY IN GRAY
A PARADOX
FOR MERIT
A BIT OF SCIENCE
THE TABLES TURNED
TO A DEJECTED POET
A FOOL
THE HUMORIST
MONTEFIORE
A WARNING
DISCRETION
AN EXILE
THE DIVISION SUPERINTENDENT
PSYCHOGRAPHS
TO A PROFESSIONAL EULOGIST
FOR WOUNDS
ELECTION DAY
THE MILITIAMAN
A LITERARY METHOD
A WELCOME
A SERENADE
THE WISE AND GOOD
THE LOST COLONEL
FOR TAT
A DILEMMA
METEMPSYCHOSIS
THE SAINT AND THE MONK
THE OPPOSING SEX
A WHIPPER-IN
JUDGMENT
THE FALL OF MISS LARKIN
IN HIGH LIFE
A BUBBLE
A RENDEZVOUS
FRANCINE
AN EXAMPLE
REVENGE
THE GENESIS OF EMBARRASSMENT
IN CONTUMACIAM
RE-EDIFIED
A BULLETIN
FROM THE MINUTES
WOMAN IN POLITICS
TO AN ASPIRANT
A BALLAD OF PIKEVILLE
A BUILDER
AN AUGURY
LUSUS POLITICUS
BEREAVEMENT
AN INSCRIPTION
A PICKBRAIN
CONVALESCENT
THE NAVAL CONSTRUCTOR
DETECTED
BIMETALISM
THE RICH TESTATOR
TWO METHODS
FOUNDATIONS OF THE STATE
IN IMPOSTER
UNEXPOUNDED
FRANCE
THE EASTERN QUESTION
A GUEST
A FALSE PROPHECY
TWO TYPES
SOME ANTE-MORTEM EPITAPHS
A HYMN OF THE MANY
ONE MORNING
AN ERROR
AT THE "NATIONAL ENCAMPMENT"
THE KING OF BORES
HISTORY
THE HERMIT
TO A CRITIC OF TENNYSON
THE YEARLY LIE
CO-OPERATION
AN APOLOGUE
DIAGNOSIS
FALLEN
DIES IRAE
THE DAY OF WRATH
ONE MOOD'S EXPRESSION
SOMETHING IN THE PAPERS
IN THE BINNACLE
HUMILITY
ONE PRESIDENT
THE BRIDE
STRAINED RELATIONS
THE MAN BORN BLIND
A NIGHTMARE
A WET SEASON
THE CONFEDERATE FLAGS
HAEC FARULA DOCET
EXONERATION
AZRAEL
AGAIN
HOMO PODUNKENSIS
A SOCIAL CALL
SHAPES OF CLAY
THE PASSING SHOW.
I.
I know not if it was a dream. I viewed
A city where the restless multitude,
Between the eastern and the western deep
Had roared gigantic fabrics, strong and rude.
Colossal palaces crowned every height;
Towers from valleys climbed into the light;
O'er dwellings at their feet, great golden domes
Hung in the blue, barbarically bright.
But now, new-glimmering to-east, the day
Touched the black masses with a grace of gray,
Dim spires of temples to the nation's God
Studding high spaces of the wide survey.
Well did the roofs their solemn secret keep
Of life and death stayed by the truce of sleep,
Yet whispered of an hour-when sleepers wake,
The fool to hope afresh, the wise to weep.
The gardens greened upon the builded hills
Above the tethered thunders of the mills
With sleeping wheels unstirred to service yet
By the tamed torrents and the quickened rills.
A hewn acclivity, reprieved a space,
Looked on the builder's blocks about his base
And bared his wounded breast in sign to say:
"Strike! 't is my destiny to lodge your race.
"'T was but a breath ago the mammoth browsed
Upon my slopes, and in my caves I housed
Your shaggy fathers in their nakedness,
While on their foeman's offal they caroused."
Ships from afar afforested the bay.
Within their huge and chambered bodies lay
The wealth of continents; and merrily sailed
The hardy argosies to far Cathay.
Beside the city of the living spread—
Strange fellowship!—the city of the dead;
And much I wondered what its humble folk,
To see how bravely they were housed, had said.
Noting how firm their habitations stood,
Broad-based and free of perishable wood—
How deep in granite and how high in brass
The names were wrought of eminent and good,
I said: "When gold or power is their aim,
The smile of beauty or the wage of shame,
Men dwell in cities; to this place they fare
When they would conquer an abiding fame."
From the red East the sun—a solemn rite—
Crowned with a flame the cross upon a height
Above the dead; and then with all his strength
Struck the great city all aroar with light!
II.
I know not if it was a dream. I came
Unto a land where something seemed the same
That I had known as 't were but yesterday,
But what it was I could not rightly name.
It was a strange and melancholy land.
Silent and desolate. On either hand
Lay waters of a sea that seemed as dead,
And dead above it seemed the hills to stand,
Grayed all with age, those lonely hills—ah me,
How worn and weary they appeared to be!
Between their feet long dusty fissures clove
The plain in aimless windings to the sea.
One hill there was which, parted from the rest,
Stood where the eastern water curved a-west.
Silent and passionless it stood. I thought
I saw a scar upon its giant breast.
The sun with sullen and portentous gleam
Hung like a menace on the sea's extreme;
Nor the dead waters, nor the far, bleak bars
Of cloud were conscious of his failing beam.
It was a dismal and a dreadful sight,
That desert in its cold, uncanny light;
No soul but I alone to mark the fear
And imminence of everlasting night!
All presages and prophecies of doom
Glimmered and babbled in the ghastly gloom,
And in the midst of that accursèd scene
A wolf sat howling on a broken tomb.
ELIXER VITAE.
Of life's elixir I had writ, when sleep
(Pray Heaven it spared him who the writing read!)
Sealed upon my senses with so deep
A stupefaction that men thought me dead.
The centuries stole by with noiseless tread,
Like spectres in the twilight of my dream;
I saw mankind in dim procession sweep
Through life, oblivion at each extreme.
Meanwhile my beard, like Barbarossa's growing,
Loaded my lap and o'er my knees was flowing.
The generations came with dance and song,
And each observed me curiously there.
Some asked: "Who was he?" Others in the throng
Replied: "A wicked monk who slept at prayer."
Some said I was a saint, and some a bear—
These all were women. So the young and gay,
Visibly wrinkling as they fared along,
Doddered at last on failing limbs away;
Though some, their footing in my beard entangled,
Fell into its abysses and were strangled.
At last a generation came that walked
More slowly forward to the common tomb,
Then altogether stopped. The women talked
Excitedly; the men, with eyes agloom
Looked darkly on them with a look of doom;
And one cried out: "We are immortal now—
How need we these?" And a dread figure stalked,
Silent, with gleaming axe and shrouded brow,
And all men cried: "Decapitate the women,
Or soon there'll be no room to stand or swim in!"
So (in my dream) each lovely head was chopped
From its fair shoulders, and but men alone
Were left in all the world. Birth being stopped,
Enough of room remained in every zone,
And Peace ascended Woman's vacant throne.
Thus, life's elixir being found (the quacks
Their bread-and-butter in it gladly sopped)
'Twas made worth having by the headsman's axe.
Seeing which, I gave myself a hearty shaking,
And crumbled all to powder in the waking.
CONVALESCENT.
What! "Out of danger?" Can the slighted Dame
Or canting Pharisee no more defame?
Will Treachery caress my hand no more,
Nor Hatred He alurk about my door?—
Ingratitude, with benefits dismissed,
Not close the loaded palm to make a fist?
Will Envy henceforth not retaliate
For virtues it were vain to emulate?
Will Ignorance my knowledge fail to scout,
Not understanding what 'tis all about,
Yet feeling in its light so mean and small
That all his little soul is turned to gall?
What! "Out of danger?" Jealousy disarmed?
Greed from exaction magically charmed?
Ambition stayed from trampling whom it meets,
Like horses fugitive in crowded streets?
The Bigot, with his candle, book and bell,
Tongue-tied, unlunged and paralyzed as well?
The Critic righteously to justice haled,
His own ear to the post securely nailed—
What most he dreads unable to inflict,
And powerless to hawk the faults he's picked?
The liar choked upon his choicest lie,
And impotent alike to villify
Or flatter for the gold of thrifty men
Who hate his person but employ his pen—
Who love and loathe, respectively, the dirt
Belonging to his character and shirt?
What! "Out of danger?"—Nature's minions all,
Like hounds returning to the huntsman's call,
Obedient to the unwelcome note
That stays them from the quarry's bursting throat?—
Famine and Pestilence and Earthquake dire,
Torrent and Tempest, Lightning, Frost and Fire,
The soulless Tiger and the mindless Snake,
The noxious Insect from the stagnant lake
(Automaton malevolences wrought
Out of the substance of Creative Thought)—
These from their immemorial prey restrained,
Their fury baffled and their power chained?
I'm safe? Is that what the physician said?
What! "Out of danger?" Then, by Heaven, I'm dead!
AT THE CLOSE OF THE CANVASS.
'Twas a Venerable Person, whom I met one Sunday morning,
All appareled as a prophet of a melancholy sect;
And in a jeremaid of objurgatory warning
He lifted up his jodel to the following effect:
O ye sanguinary statesmen, intermit your verbal tussles
O ye editors and orators, consent to hear my lay!
And a little while the digital and maxillary muscles
And attend to what a Venerable Person has to say.
Cease your writing, cease your shouting, cease your wild unearthly lying;
Cease to bandy such expressions as are never, never found
In the letter of a lover; cease "exposing" and "replying"—
Let there be abated fury and a decrement of sound.
For to-morrow will be Monday and the fifth day of November—
Only day of opportunity before the final rush.
Carpe diem! go conciliate each person who's a member
Of the other party—do it while you can without a blush.
"Lo! the time is close upon you when the madness of the season
Having howled itself to silence, like a Minnesota 'clone,
Will at last be superseded by the still, small voice of reason,
When the whelpage of your folly you would willingly disown.
"Ah, 'tis mournful to consider what remorses will be thronging,
With a consciousness of having been so ghastly indiscreet,
When by accident untoward two ex-gentlemen belonging
To the opposite political denominations meet!
"Yes, 'tis melancholy, truly, to forecast the fierce, unruly
Supersurging of their blushes, like the flushes upon high
When Aurora Borealis lights her circumpolar palace
And in customary manner sets her banner in the sky.
"Each will think: 'This falsifier knows that I too am a liar.
Curse him for a son of Satan, all unholily compound!
Curse my leader for another! Curse that pelican, my mother!
Would to God that I when little in my victual had been drowned!'"
Then that Venerable Person went away without returning
And, the madness of the season having also taken flight,
All the people soon were blushing like the skies to crimson burning
When Aurora Borealis fires her premises by night.
NOVUM ORGANUM.
In Bacon see the culminating prime
Of Anglo-Saxon intellect and crime.
He dies and Nature, settling his affairs,
Parts his endowments among us, his heirs:
To every one a pinch of brain for seed,
And, to develop it, a pinch of greed.
Each thrifty heir, to make the gift suffice,
Buries the talent to manure the vice.
GEOTHEOS.
As sweet as the look of a lover
Saluting the eyes of a maid,
That blossom to blue as the maid
Is ablush to the glances above her,
The sunshine is gilding the glade
And lifting the lark out of shade.
Sing therefore high praises, and therefore
Sing songs that are ancient as gold,
Of Earth in her garments of gold;
Nor ask of their meaning, nor wherefore
They charm as of yore, for behold!
The Earth is as fair as of old.
Sing songs of the pride of the mountains,
And songs of the strength of the seas,
And the fountains that fall to the seas
From the hands of the hills, and the fountains
That shine in the temples of trees,
In valleys of roses and bees.
Sing songs that are dreamy and tender,
Of slender Arabian palms,
And shadows that circle the palms,
Where caravans, veiled from the splendor,
Are kneeling in blossoms and balms,
In islands of infinite calms.
Barbaric, O Man, was thy runing
When mountains were stained as with wine
By the dawning of Time, and as wine
Were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning,
Achant in the gusty pine
And the pulse of the poet's line.
YORICK.
Hard by an excavated street one sat
In solitary session on the sand;
And ever and anon he spake and spat
And spake again—a yellow skull in hand,
To which that retrospective Pioneer
Addressed the few remarks that follow here:
"Who are you? Did you come 'der blains agross,'
Or 'Horn aroundt'? In days o' '49
Did them thar eye-holes see the Southern Cross
From the Antarctic Sea git up an' shine?
Or did you drive a bull team 'all the way
From Pike,' with Mr. Joseph Bowers?—say!
"Was you in Frisco when the water came
Up to Montgum'ry street? and do you mind
The time when Peters run the faro game—
Jim Peters from old Mississip—behind
Wells Fargo's, where he subsequent was bust
By Sandy, as regards both bank and crust?
"I wonder was you here when Casey shot
James King o' William? And did you attend
The neck-tie dance ensuin'? I did not,
But j'ined the rush to Go Creek with my friend
Ed'ard McGowan; for we was resolved
In sech diversions not to be involved.
"Maybe I knowed you; seems to me I've seed
Your face afore. I don't forget a face,
But names I disremember—I'm that breed
Of owls. I'm talking some'at into space
An' maybe my remarks is too derned free,
Seein' yer name is unbeknown to me.
"Ther' was a time, I reckon, when I knowed
Nigh onto every dern galoot in town.
That was as late as '50. Now she's growed
Surprisin'! Yes, me an' my pardner, Brown,
Was wide acquainted. If ther' was a cuss
We didn't know, the cause was—he knowed us.
"Maybe you had that claim adjoinin' mine
Up thar in Calaveras. Was it you
To which Long Mary took a mighty shine,
An' throwed squar' off on Jake the Kangaroo?
I guess if she could see ye now she'd take
Her chance o' happiness along o' Jake.
"You ain't so purty now as you was then:
Yer eyes is nothin' but two prospect holes,
An' women which are hitched to better men
Would hardly for sech glances damn their souls,
As Lengthie did. By G——! I hope it's you,
For" (kicks the skull) "I'm Jake the Kangaroo."
A VISION OF DOOM.
I stood upon a hill.
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